Terms + Conditions (Strangers #3)

Chapter Fifty-Three

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

NOW

“I APOLOGIZE FOR THE late call,” Ed Brown says from across the table at Millers All Day. My stomach plummeted when I saw his name stretched across my screen last night. He had called to set up a meeting for this morning—answering my earlier question about whether or not he worked on holidays. Was New Year’s Eve technically a holiday, though?

He was already here when we arrived, sipping on a cup of coffee that had just been refilled by Holly, the same server from the last time we were here. She offered him something to eat, but he politely declined as we slid into the booth, my eyes drawn to the folder in the middle of the table. He waited to begin until after we had placed our order with Holly, both of us only ordering a coffee. I’m not sure we could stomach anything more right now.

My eyes shift between him and the manila folder beneath his hands. He’s found something. That much is reassuring, but whatever is in that folder is about to change our lives forever, and that scares the shit out of me.

“I know it’s the holiday, but I didn’t think you’d want to wait.” He clears his throat and pulls the folder toward him. “Do you recognize this man?”

He sets a photo face-up on the table, and I have to do a double-take.

“Isn’t that…Justin?” Elizabeth asks, picking up the photo to get a better look. Showing it to me, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it is Justin.

“So, you do know him?” Ed confirms.

“We went to college together,” I say. “Well, for a while, he transferred after—”

“After a hazing incident in which he ended up in the hospital.” The older man takes a sip of coffee, his sharp stare locked on me the whole time. “Yes, I’m aware.” Ed pulls a packet from the folder. “Mrs. Villa’s lawyer did a great job covering up the fact that you were involved in the incident, but I’m a lot more thorough than most.”

Before me, a copy of the contract Elizabeth and I signed ten years ago. How in the hell did he get that? Looking up from the contract, I meet his blank stare.

“What does that have to do with any of this?” I hiss, shoving the papers back toward him. “I thought you were supposed to be looking for Juliet, not digging into our past.”

“Justin is Juliet’s brother.” He says it so simply, so plainly, my brain almost doesn’t register the words. Did he just say Justin is Juliet’s brother? How did I not know that?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Elizabeth scoffs, turning to glare at me.

“I had no idea!” I defend myself. “I didn’t—Justin has never told me he had a sister.”

“They weren’t very close, from the intel I’ve gathered,” Ed says, pulling out another photo. A family stands in front of a large two-story house—a boy, maybe three or four, stands next to a girl, maybe six or seven, in front of their parents. There’s a cluster of palm trees in the corner, a bush with pink flowers near the front door, and shrubs lining the front under the windowsill. “They share a father but not much else.”

“But he’s from Washington—”

“His father had been married previously—before a small stint with Justin’s mother in Washington—and returned to his previous wife in Florida, Juliet’s mother.”

“Their last names—”

“Justin was given his mother’s last name, not his father’s. There’s some discrepancy whether it is his father or not, but that’s not my business,” Ed says over his coffe mug. “So for all intents and purposes of this investigation, he is Justin’s father.”

Elizabeth fingers the family photo, gliding across the face of the young girl, before she looks up at Ed. “And where is Juliet now?”

“Juliet is dead.”

The coffee mug falls from my hands, flooding the table with brown liquid, and the restaurant falls into a hushed silence. All eyes are on us, and Holly rushes over with towels to stop the spread. Ed rescues the folder from drowning in the scolding liquid, and luckily, none had spilled over the edge, burning anyone’s lap. I offer Holly an apologetic smile, but she brushes me off. “Happens all the time. I’ll get you another one.”

Elizabeth waits until she returns with the fresh coffee to continue. “What do you mean she’s dead ?”

“Unfortunately, she passed away last year. Cancer,” Ed says, pulling an obituary from the folder and laying it on the table. The top of it reads The Wichita Tribune , a local newspaper in Wichita. I had picked one up while I sat in the cafe, waiting for her to show up last year. There’s a photo next to the write-up—it looks like her but doesn’t at the same time.

Juliet Sinclaire-Donovan, born September 16, 1991, passed away July 17, 2024, it reads. She died the day before we were supposed to meet.

“She moved around quite a bit after college, went by different names, got involved in some pretty bad stuff…She went to rehab in twenty-nineteen.”

“Rehab?” Elizabeth asks.

“Drugs—mostly cocaine and cannabis. Got arrested a few times for possession and once for trafficking.”

“And where was Brie during all of this?” I ask, finally looking up from the photo.

“The girl was placed in the care of Juliet’s parents until she was released from rehab and cleared by the court at the beginning of twenty-twenty.”

“Why wouldn’t they bring her to me? I’m her father. Why wouldn’t—”

“Are you?” Ed asks, his brow practically touching his hairline. My mouth falls open but closes almost immediately. The truth is, I don’t know for certain, but something tells me I already know the answer. “Have you done a paternity test already?”

“No,” Elizabeth answers.

“Do you know how many Joshua Davises there are in the world? I imagine starting a search for you was the last thing on the mind of those in charge of placing her somewhere. Placing her with Juliet’s parents was much easier than looking for you.”

“So, if Juliet is…dead,” Elizabeth says, tapping the obituary. “Are we housing a runaway right now?”

“There hasn’t been a BOLO issued, but I can’t say how long before there is one. Sources tell me she’s supposed to be back in Wichita at her best friend’s house. She’s been living with her uncle since her mother died—”

“Not her grandparents?” I ask.

“Grandfather passed away in twenty-two, Grandmother passed away earlier this year, and the girl was placed in the care of Justin.”

“The letter.” I scoff, meeting Elizabeth’s stare. “She must have known her time was limited; it’s why she wanted to meet.”

“So, what now?” Elizabeth asks, not even acknowledging what I said.

“I suggest confronting the girl. And then, I’d get in touch with Justin. Last thing you want is a runaway on your hands.”

Brie giggles as Finn taunts my sister about her poor cookie-decorating skills.

“For a designer, you’re not very good at this,” he continues as Elizabeth and I walk through the front door.

Elizabeth walks up the stairs without a word. The ride home was quiet, both of us processing everything we had just learned. I glance up the steps when I hear the bedroom door slam shut before peering into the dining room, where Michaela flips off her fiancé and stuffs the snowman cookie she had been decorating in his mouth to shut him up. As much as I want to get this conversation with Brie over with, I need to talk to Elizabeth first.

I find her in the bathroom, gripping the edge of the vanity. I wrap my arms around her waist, pull her body flush against mine, and kiss the back of her neck. She takes a deep breath and turns in my arms, clutching my sweater and burying her face in my chest. Before I know it, I can feel warm tears soaking through the material, and her body racks with a sob. Tightening my grip on her, I kiss the crown of her head and rub small circles on her back. This response surprises me. From her reaction at the restaurant, I thought she was mad, not upset.

When Elizabeth pulls away, she wipes under her eyes and sniffles. “She barely got her mother back before…”

She can’t get the words out, and suddenly, I realize why she’s so upset. Elizabeth understands the grief Brie must be dealing with better than anyone.

“I know, Sugar,” I say gently, pulling her back into my grasp when tears begin to burn my own eyes. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose your mother so young, only to get her back and have her savagely ripped away again.

“What if the test says you’re not her father?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Elizabeth takes a small step back, and I wipe away a tear that has trailed down her cheek. She does the same for me and reaches up to press a quick peck to my lips.

“Will you do this with me?” I ask, studying her hands before I look up to meet her gaze. “Please, I-I need you there.”

Brie looks small, sitting on the couch across from me, with her hands stuffed under her thighs and her sock-covered feet barely scraping the floor of the back porch. Elizabeth joins us with three mugs of hot cocoa—Mom’s recipe, Elizabeth is the only person I know who can make it almost as good as Mom. She hands one to each of us before sitting next to me. She sits on her feet and offers me a smile before taking a sip of the cocoa and motioning toward Brie with her eyes.

“Brie…is there anything you want to tell us?” I ask.

She traces the rim of her mug and shuffles her feet in front of her, chewing on the inside of her lip before meeting my stare. She clears her throat, sitting up a little straighter as she pulls her feet under her. “Like what?”

“We know.” I sigh. “About your mother.”

Her eyes grow ten times in size, and she looks between us. “I don’t—I don’t know what you—”

“Brie.” Elizabeth stops her gently. Setting her mug on the table, she makes her way over to the other couch and takes one of Brie’s hands in hers. With a soft smile, Elizabeth says, “I am so sorry, truly.”

Brie’s eyes begin to fill with water, and she swallows hard, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I, um…I lost both of my parents when I was young, too.” Elizabeth rolls up the left sleeve of her sweater and turns over her wrist, tracing the worn scar that trails up her arm. “I was a little older than you were. My brother attacked us, and unfortunately, my parents didn’t make it, so I know what it’s like to grow up without my momma, too.”

Elizabeth reaches up and wipes a few tears that fall down Brie’s cheeks. “Does your Uncle Justin know you’re here?”

Brie averts her gaze down to the mug in her lap. I’m guessing that would be a no.

“He thinks you’re at your friend’s house, right?” Elizabeth continues and Brie meets her gaze before offering a slow nod. Elizabeth glances at me, and a sad smile graces her lips. “We should probably tell him where you are, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” Brie whispers.

“We’re not mad,” I say, meeting both of their gazes. “But I wish you had been honest with us.”

Her bottom lip trembles, looking between us. “I’m sorry.”

Elizabeth wraps her arms around the young girl, and I join them, wrapping my arms around both of them, sandwiching Brie between us. My wife offers a tearful smile atop Brie’s head, and I return the gesture. I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve fallen more in love with this woman in the last few moments. She handled this entire situation with grace and compassion, while I hadn’t the slightest idea where to begin. I can only thank God that she and I reconciled before this happened because I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle this on my own.